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"This is not the scene I dreamed of. Like much else nowadays I leave it feeling stupid, like a man who lost his way long ago but presses on along a road that may lead nowhere."
—J. M. Coetzee, Waiting for the Barbarians

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The sun beat down outside, the temperature rising as the morning progressed. The humidity developed into a heavy blanket as the cicadas droned. July did little to lift Jack's spirits. It was too hot, too contrary to his nature. Jamie hadn't lied. This week was supposed to be a scorcher. Ninety degree, one-hundred-percent-humidity let's-kill-ourselves scorcher.

The coolness of the small cavern kept the worst of the heat at bay, but it still wasn't enough to completely remove the oppressive weight. It seemed to infect his blood, igniting a restlessness that grew by the hour. Pitch was quiet. He hadn't said a thing since Jack had threatened bodily harm. The immortal teenager surreptitiously glanced at the still figure. In the cramped quarters of the cave Pitch's body appeared huge, the matte robes blending in with the dimness. It was eerie to be in such proximity with it, and it certainly didn't help that the body looked moments away from waking up.

The strange and uncomfortable notion of having another consciousness piggybacking his head wasn't too terrible, actually. To Jack's delighted surprise the Nightmare King could remain remarkable still, and for long periods of time he actually forgot the Boogeyman was in his head. He'd expected the dark spirt to rant and rave, but it seemed Pitch was content to—

"Will you stop that?" the voice said, low and dangerous. "Leave me alone."

"Geeze, what's choking your goose?"

A black wave of anger flooded over him, and Jack physically stumbled to a knee. The stillness he'd originally thought was actually a cold fury, so frigid it burned. Oh, crap.

"I don't have a body. Do you understand that, you idiot?" Pitch's inner gaze felt feverish, too bright. It honed on Jack as if he were an animal Pitch had managed to corner. "I am nothing but a concept in your puny head. I am nothing."

Jack's mouth opened and, without thinking, said, "So, what? You were nothing even when you had a body."

A headache exploded out of nowhere as the dark spirit's essence swelled against Jack's skull, claws sinking into every surface it could. It was as if a nest of hornets were stinging every thought, every memory, every emotion. Jack gripped his head, squeezing in a wild attempt to keep his head from exploding.

"Arrgh! Ow! Ow! Hey! Stop it! Cut it out!"

But Pitch didn't stop. Ruthlessly, almost single-mindedly, he never let go, wrapping himself tighter and tighter around Jack's buckling mind, going straight for the teenager's soft parts. Jack stumbled to both knees, dimly aware tears were freezing on his cheeks. He gasped at the very agony of it. There was no order, no pattern, just one wave of agony after another. He clung to sanity with slipping fingers.

Enough of Jack remained for him to scream, "Pitch!" Desperate, he groped for his staff and, blind with pain, slashed it in wild abandon. "STOP!"

And, like a switch, the attack stopped.

It took a minute or two before Jack could remove his hands from his ears, and a minute more before he could remember his own name. Heavy panting filled the small cavern. He spent another moment in shivering pain as waves of aftershock rolled over him. When he did open his eyes, he was instantly transported to Antarctica, to the very day he fought Pitch and lost.

The miniature ice sculpture stared back at him. It was identical to the one he'd created on the desolate ice floes, down to the jagged spears shooting in every direction. It was spread out like a deadly flower, its tips black and centre translucent. Three of its points were hairsbreadths away from piercing Pitch's chest and side. One actually nicked a dark cheek, just below a closed eye. A bubble of blood welled up before running like a tear down the face. As the young Guardian stared, he realized this was the reason Pitch had stopped.

You would've kept going until I was a vegetable, he thought, incredulous at first, then frightened at how close he was having mush for brains. His friends would've found him drooling on the ground, useless. Worse than dead. The desire to use North's globe was powerful, but he shoved it aside. He needed to do this immediately, before Pitch got any more ideas. He rose to his feet, using his staff as a crutch. Still panting, he wiped the remaining tear crystals from his cheeks. A hot coal of anger burned deep in his belly as he shuffled towards the prone body. Feverish chills wracked his body.

Pitch stirred. "What are you doing? What are you—"

"Shut up."

Surprisingly, the Nightmare King did.

When Jack spoke again, his voice was surprisingly level. Friendly, even. But it was blisteringly cold. He felt his lips pull back from his teeth as he said, "You pull this stunt again and I might actually lose my mind, which I'm pretty sure that's bad for both of us. We understand each other? Try this again—" deliberately, slowly, Jack pressed the nook of his shepherd's staff to the body's forehead, "—and I won't just leave a little cut next time."

"Leave me alone and I won't have to," Pitch said, but he sounded shaken.

A vicious gladness shot through Jack and he ground the staff into the forehead, hating the gray face and slack features. He imagined he could feel Pitch flinch inside his head.

"Fine. Fine! Alright, you can put the staff away now. I said alright!"

Jack withdrew the staff. "Fine."

A freezing silence, the only thing cold on the summer's day, fell between them. Taking advantage of the truce, Jack lifted his staff again and concentrated on making a snowball. Instead of producing fluffiness, the creation looked like a murder weapon. The young Guardian swallowed a suddenly parched throat as he dropped the spiky lump and attempted another. And another.

It was hard to stem the panic as he realized everything he created were dangerous. Even the snowflakes, once as delicate as lace, were now as hard and needled as spider fangs. At last Jack stopped, finding himself in the centre of a brier of treacherous ice thorns. He made a fist, fighting for calm.

"You can stop what you're doing," he said, biting his cheek. His hand hurt from clenching too tight.

Sullen silence stretched like taffy. Water plinked from the melting ice spears.

"Pitch?" Jack crouched besides the Nightmare King's head. "Want to answer me?"

"I'm not doing anything," Pitch said, sulking.

"Yes, you are. Don't lie to me, Sunshine. Why can't I make snow?"

"Are you deaf?" the Boogeyman snapped, quick to snarl as Jack tapped the body's face with the staff's hook. "I said I'm not doing anything!"

"Ohhhh, you're definitely doing something. My powers are all weird, and I want it to stop."

"You're certainly a daft one, aren't you. It's amazing you've survived as long as you have."

"Pitch. I swear to the Moon I will hurt you."

"It's the amalgamation of our magic. Don't you see? Just like Antarctica. Cold and dark together in one body." Pitch chuckled, and there was nothing friendly about it. It felt like ice cubes rubbing against Jack's spine. The miasma that was the Boogeyman's essence folded in on itself, coiling.

"So, when will it—?"

"End? I assume when we disentangle ourselves from each other," Pitch replied. "Til then, I'm afraid no fluffy snowballs for you." There was a moment of appreciative silence. "You know—"

"Forget it," Jack said, standing up. "I'm not fulfilling any fantasies you might have about this. No more 'cold and dark' talks, alright? You tried that before, remember?"

The presence in the immortal teenager's head shifted again, irritated. Though it said nothing, Jack knew he had Pitch's full attention. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Look. Let's just try to make it out of this without killing each other, okay? Okay. That's all I ask. Shouldn't be too hard, right?"

There was no response, but the young Guardian was relieved there wasn't anyway. The assault had left him shaken and unbalanced, and he was glad for a reprieve. True, though he had the snow globe to the Pole, it still felt he was alone in this trial. He was literally tied to the Nightmare King. Literally. What other creature had the misfortune to say the same?

No, he thought. He was being harsh. He wasn't alone. He had friends and they were finding out a way to fix him back. Jack collapsed on a rock and leaned into the natural incline, settling to watch the terrible ice sculpture melt, too mentally tired to attempt much else. The feverish chill wouldn't leave him. Soon the sound of plinking water on stone filled the small cave. It was both a peaceful and dreary sound, and he found himself zoning out, exhausted beyond belief.

"And I was something." The voice was so quiet Jack thought he'd imagined it. But by then the young Guardian didn't have the strength for another fight, and let the moment slide unacknowledged.

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It didn't take long for the July heat to melt the ice away. Pitch continued to say nothing as his body lay in the growing puddle, yet Jack could feel his distaste as acutely as a shudder. It brought to mind a cat shaking water from its paws, ears pinned back and eyes slitted. Day turned to late afternoon, and as light beyond the cave ripened into a rich gold. A pair of robins warbled. Though summer was never Jack's favorite time, he couldn't help but appreciate what it had to offer. There was a vibrance to it winter would never possess, and sometimes he found himself envious.

If only it wasn't so damn hot, he thought. Night, when it came, was almost worse, like a physical wall of smothering humidity. He felt sticky all over. With space in the cave a rare commodity, he had taken to lying on the chilled ground in attempt to remain cool. Jack made a conscious effort to ignore both the body sprawled next to him and the dark creature in his head. After the trial earlier that day, the last thing he wanted was a rematch.

It was starting to get dark inside the cave when a paw disturbed some gravel.

"Snowflake? You there?"

Jack twitched. "Haven't left, Bunny."

Bunnymund stuck his head in. "We're not interrupting anything, then?"

"Oh, yeah. Totally," Jack said under his breath before climbing to his feet. He found Bunnymund and Sandy waiting for him on the forest's edge, blue in the dying light. Sandy was fanning himself with a tiny hand. Jack must've made a face, because the giant rabbit started to chuckle.

"Woof, mate, I don't blame you. I mean, could'ya imagine if Easter was in this heat? My poor eggs would cook!"

"How do you think I feel?" Jack grumbled. He should've been hundreds of miles away in the Arctic somewhere, or the Siberian tundra, keeping cool. Or making snow, he thought, but didn't voice.

"I dunno. How do you feel?" Bunnymund said, gracing the young Guardian with a narrow side-eye.

Jack didn't appreciate the suspicion, but hid most of his irritation behind a flippant, "Absolutely dandy. Never better."

"Seriously, mate. Y'have to let us know if, er . . . anything . . ."

The young Guardian said nothing, amused by the way the giant rabbit was working himself in a flustered mess. Sandy tapped the other's furry haunch. Jack looked at the flying shapes above the Sandman's head, speeding up to the point of a blur.

"Sure, Sandy. Whatever you say," he said.

Sandy pulled a disapproving face.

The immortal teenager had the grace to be abashed as he sighed and ducked his head to scratch the back of his neck. "Sorry, guys. It's me. Still kinda on edge with the whole 'sharing headspace' thing."

"What's it like?" Bunnymund asked, but his expression was braced, like he didn't want to know. Jack saw it before Bunny could mask it. He hesitated. He'd been prepared to tell everyone about their fight and what happened to his powers, but suddenly he couldn't bring himself to say it to Bunnymund. Especially not Bunny. Though a year of friendly antagonism had done much to bury the once not-so-friendly antagonism, Jack wanted nothing to disrupt the hard-earned trust. The last thing he wanted was to be treated differently, or cast out. He could sense Pitch stirring. Jack schooled his face to hide his discomfort.

"He doesn't like it when I notice him," Jack said lightly, tapping his staff on a shoulder. "We're staying in our own corners till this whole nightmare is over."

"That's good, that's good," Bunnymund said, glancing at Sandy in a not so subtle plea for guidance. Sandy rolled a wrist in a Go on gesture. The giant rabbit fluffed out his whiskers and continued, "So, er, d'ya need anything? Something we could get you?"

"How bout Pitch outta my head? I could use that right about now."

"North is reading as fast as he can with his books," Bunnymund replied. "You know how the big lug can get. So far we've come up with squat, but he's optimistic. Says we're getting close. For now, we're sticking with Tooth's plan."

"Did the Moon say anything?" Jack asked, but he assumed the answer even before the rabbit could reply. When Bunnymund confirmed his suspicions, a crick of irritation bit through him nonetheless.

"Sorry, Snowflake. Ol' Manny can be pretty tight-lipped from time to time, eh?"

Jack offered a tight smile of his own. "Yeah, I get it. Wants us to figure this on our own, blah blah blah."

Bunnymund hummed in agreement, but said nothing else to discredit the Moon. The treacherous thought They've never experienced the Moon's cruelty crossed his mind, and again he had to hide a shiver as Pitch stirred again.

"I'm going to see Jamie tomorrow," Jack said suddenly.

Sandy pursed his 's furry brows pulled together and voiced what the Sandman couldn't.

"You sure that's good idea, mate? We still don't know the side effects."

"Bunny, I haven't seen anyone besides you two in almost twelve hours. I'm losing my mind—that's a metaphor, Cottontail," Jack groaned at Bunnymund's intense flash of worry. "Sheesh, relax. Besides, I promised the kiddo I'd hang out."

When Bunny's worried expression deepened, Jack threw a hand in the air. "C'mon, guys. What are you worried about? That I'll turn into Pitch? That I'll—oh." Jack broke off, blinking. "Wait. You think I'll turn into Pitch?"

"We don't know anything," Bunnymund said, still brows drawn. Though his words were gruff, they were not unkind. "We think you should hold off from seeing the ankle-biters til this—" he waved a paw to encompass the whole of Jack, "—is cleared."

It was hard to concentrate over the sensation of Pitch's alien emotions. The headache from their fight was returning with a vengeance, tightening around the young Guardian's head like a vice.

"Okay. Okay. Fine. No fun till Pitch is evicted," Jack said, trying to dampen the guilt of lying.

Bunnymund's shoulders slump with relief. "Thanks, Jack," he said.

Jack didn't know it was possible to feel even worse. "Yeah, yeah. Just promise me you'll figure how to get me my own head back," he said, plastering his most disarming smile. Sandy leveled a long, thoughtful look his way, and for one horrible moment Jack thought he'd see through his lies and call him out. But Sandy never brought it to Bunnymund's attention, and as the Guardian of Hope said goodbye, the little Guardian floated away on his golden cloud. When Jack was finally alone it was his turn to slump with relief. He was about to relax when Pitch's cold voice sliced through his thoughts.

"It's started, you know. The distrust. It's small at first, but it'll grow."

Jack closed his eyes, counted to ten, and blew hard through his nose. "It's not gonna work, Pitch. I know what you're trying to do, and take it from me, it's not gonna work."

"We'll see."

Like a grey sea Pitch subsided, but Jack could sense the currents beneath the quiet surface. Suddenly five days felt like a thousand years.

…

TBC